


We'll make it through this

by Bibanana



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Smoking, Teenlock, Warnings for depressing thoughts, kinda fluffy i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibanana/pseuds/Bibanana
Summary: John and Sherlock are teenagers in love who just want it all to work out. Unfortunately, their parents are making things difficult and it seems like they just can't grow up and move out fast enough.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 27





	We'll make it through this

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings in the tags!!
> 
> If you want a (more or less) happy ending, STOP reading at the "XxX". If you keep going, you may not be satisfied by the ending.

John lowered himself over the edge of his balcony, dropping down just over a foot, before landing steadily on the small table that sat on the porch of the flat below his. The scrawny, curly-haired teen was already there, taking long drags from his cigarette, staring out into the night sky.

“Hey.” John said to signify his arrival, legs dangling off of the table.

Sherlock turned to look at him, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly upwards. He let his cigarette hang limply between his teeth as he came to sit next to John, his feet planted firmly on the ground. John had always envied Sherlock’s height; so many sports he could have mastered in, yet he chose to sit in the corner with a science textbook that was several grades ahead. Meanwhile, John was struggling to look intimidating as the other children towered over him.

John couldn’t help but notice the red rim around Sherlock’s icy blue eyes, and that the boy looked a bit thinner than last time. “Has Mycroft been giving you trouble?” John asked softly as Sherlock puffed, causing smoke to go everywhere. John used to reprimand him for the smoking, but when he learned what Sherlock’s home life could be, he stopped. Not like John had it perfect or anything, no, his own parents were homophobic arseholes and Harry was always either out drinking or sleeping at her girlfriend Clara’s house. Practically moved in there. But Sherlock, well, he had to deal with a lot worse.

Sherlock gave something of a pained smirk. “No, Mycroft is always off running parliament or something. Every time he comes home, he’s ranked up. By the time I finally get out of here, he’ll have outranked the prime minister.”

“Hmm, that’s good, right?” John coughed, turning away from the gray cloud of smoke forming around them. A guilty expression flicked across Sherlock’s face and he quickly tossed his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with the heel of his expensive, polished shoes.

 _At least money is something he’ll never have to worry about._ John thought bitterly, looking down his own second hand, falling-apart trainers. He instantly regretted it, though, knowing that Sherlock was under so much parental pressure that concerning himself with finances would feel like a relief.

“Good?” Sherlock scoffed, after a while. “Mycroft is a nosy prick, but at least when he’s here, mum and dad will stay off my back. Sometimes, if Mycroft is in a good mood, he’ll keep them talking, feeding them bits of secret information about upcoming elections and whatnot. Nothing that would get him fired, just enough that they’ll shower him with praise and will leave me with my microscope. Then, at night, I’ll sneak some cake into his room. They’re forcing the diet on him, harder than ever right now. Always fussing about how I won’t eat and he eats too much. It’s all bullshit, just a huge load of bullshit.” Sherlock’s voice shook with repressed emotion. His fingers twitched around the edges of the cigarette box, but he didn’t light another.

“That’s nice. That you two are getting along?” John said encouragingly, hoping Sherlock would keep talking. God knows that Sherlock doesn’t have anyone else to talk to, and, if he was being honest, he absolutely _loved_ it when Sherlock spoke. His voice carried so much knowledge, even if he was just ranting about his sorry excuse for parents.

Sherlock looked down sadly. “Yeah. It was.” John thought he saw the gimmer of a tear in Sherlock’s eye, before he turned his head away, breathing deeply.

“Hey,” John said quietly, putting his hand over Sherlock’s. “It’s okay.”

Sherlock turned back to face John again. “They were yelling at me, John.” Sherlock’s voice was thick with emotion and, despite his efforts a tear trickled out of the corner of his eye. “They said I was gonna end up without a wife and family because I don’t care about how I look and I’m too skinny and who’s gonna want to date a kid who only cares about how chytridiomycota reacts with sulfur dioxide and dissecting animal body parts and I don’t even want a wife, John, I want _you_ and who knows if they would be okay with that, I know your parents wouldn’t, but I’m a disappointment compared to Mycroft. He’s going to end up-- he already is-- an extremely rich and politically powerful man wears nice suits and only eats the cake that his pathetic little brother gives him. I’m going to end up dead from a drug overdose in some alleyway and they won’t find my body until a week later.” Tears were now streaming freely down his pale face. “I am a _failure_ , John.”

“No, don’t say that!” John clasped Sherlock’s hand tightly in his own and used his other hand to tilt Sherlock’s chin upwards, meeting his eyes. “You, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, are an absolute phenomenon. You are perfect, more perfect than I or Mycroft or your parents could ever hope to be.” John meant it and he wished, with all of his heart, that Sherlock could just see it for himself.

Sherlock wrenched his hand away from John, swiping at the tears falling from his eyes. “You know that we won’t last, John.”

“What?”

“Us. If my parents have their way, I’ll end up filing papers for Mycroft or dead in a ditch. You are going to become a doctor and, if _your_ parents have their way, with a nice wife.” Sherlock’s voice was drained of all hope.

“Hang on,” John started, putting his hand on Sherlock’s cheek. “Why do you keep saying that you’re going to die?”

Sherlock didn’t respond.

“Sherlock. You are the most brilliant person I know. We are _going_ to work out. As soon as you’re eighteen and I have enough money to move out, we’ll go to London. No one will stop us.”

Sherlock looked surprised. “Money is what’s keeping you here? Dammit, John! I’ll give you money! Go, leave!”

John shook his head. “No. No, I’m not leaving without you.”

“It will be another year and a half before I’m legal. I don’t want to be the reason that you have to stay.”

“I don’t mind staying. I love my parents and they’ll love me so long as they don’t find out. Even if they did find out, I’m sure Harry wouldn’t mind letting me stay with her and her girlfriend, at least for a bit.”

“Do you really think that we’ll be able to keep up this charade for that long? Someone will find out eventually.”

John reached out and pulled Sherlock into his chest. “No one’s going to find out.” He murmured into Sherlock’s fluffy black locks. Sherlock nuzzled in closer, throwing his arms around John’s waist. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll make it through this.” John sighed, stroking Sherlock’s hair. “We’ll make it through this.”

XxX

“William?”

John snapped his head upright. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep.

“Get under the table.” Sherlock hissed, already standing.

John leapt off of the table and ducked under, folding into himself, trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Sherlock’s mom pulled the door leading to the balcony open, wearing a nightie and hair in brightly coloured curlers. “What in _god’s name_ are you doing out here?” She grabbed Sherlock’s small wrist and yanked him inside. She gasped, and for a moment, John thought she had spotted him. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, are those _cigarettes_?” She bent over, snatching the cigarette box from the table. John held his breath and tried to quiet his loudly beating heart.

When Sherlock spoke, his voice sounded small. Vulnerable. “No. Um. I don’t know. Maybe they’re Mycroft’s?”

Mrs. Holmes wheeled around to face him. “Idiot child.” She snarled. “Your brother wouldn’t destroy his lungs. He is intelligent enough to know not to take that risk.”

Sherlock met John’s gaze for a split second and his cerulean eyes, seeming to glow in the dark, were full of genuine fear.

John watched in horror as the monster who had enough nerve to call herself a mum shoved Sherlock inside, causing him to fall to the ground. Trembling, he rose to his feet and stumbled backwards. She slammed the glass door shut and started shouting, but John couldn’t hear anything she said. A bleary-eyed Mycroft emerged (John, from his view under the table, couldn't see where he came from) and tried to intervene, buying Sherlock time to run to his room.

John let out an audible gasp, before clapping a hand over his mouth, as their mother slapped Mycroft across the face, presumably for standing up for his younger brother. Once they disappeared from view, John stood up, shaking, and scrambled back up to his flat, fully knowing that he wouldn’t get any sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a one shot for now. I may continue it in the future, but I have too many other things going on right now.


End file.
